Page 22 of Playing Games

Unknown: Admit it…you’ve been using a different entrance, haven’t you?

Me: No.

Truth be told, I’ve not needed an entrance all that much. I woke up Wednesday morning with a keyboard on my face, having spent the entire night locked away in my apartment at my computer, putting in data points for my Blake Boden research project. I’m obsessive—sometimes to the point of recklessness.

But, evidently, so is he. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be texting me on a number I told him he couldn’t have.

I sigh, choosing not to argue with someone as clearly stubborn as him, and save his number under his full name—just like all the other contacts in my phone.Somehow, adding him makes the whole idea of spending time with him this summer feel plausible within the constructs of reality. And according to my stepdad, avoidance—if I’d even been attempting it—ends Monday at MKC anyway.

Blake Boden: Come on, Lex. Give me a chance. Please?

Me: I’ll see you at Mavericks Kids Camp this week, and maybe, if you’re convincing enough, I’ll consider it.

Blake: You have no idea what you’ve just agreed to. Let the games begin.

I roll my eyes, but the tug of my smile betrays me. For better or worse, I guess the Blake Boden Experiment—and the fact that I’ll need to spend more time with him to conduct it—has officially begun.

Monday, May 26th

Blake

With a netted bag of footballs slung over my shoulder—courtesy of one of the Mavericks’ staff—I step through the tunnel and out onto the field. The stadium looms around me, empty but electric, the kind of place that doesn’t need fans in the seats to feel larger-than-life. My feet hit the turf, and I almost have to stop to remind myself to breathe.

This is it. The field where legends played. Where legendsstillplay.

The very field that I hope to someday call home.

I scan the expansive venue, my eyes wide like a kid who just walked into Disney World for the first fucking time.

Hot damn. I’m happy to be here.

Today is the first day of Mavericks Kids Camp. For two hours today and two hours Wednesday, this is where I’ll be, and I can’t remember the last time I was this hyped for something. Sure, I’m here because I’ve been a Mavs fan since I could throw a football, but let’s be honest, I’m also here because Lexi Winslow’s name came up when we were talking about this camp during my lunch with Ace and his dad last Tuesday.

Thatch mentioned the camp shortly after walking into Zip’s Diner, casually sharing that he’d just gotten off the phone with his brother-in-law—retired Mavs running back Sean Phillips. Apparently, Cam Mitchell had torn his hamstring playing indoor soccer with his sons and had to back out of camp at the last minute.

Of course, I latched on to the opportunity like a wide receiver on a Hail Mary pass. By the time I got back to my apartment, I’d already roped Coach Gordan into calling the Mavs on my behalf, and by Friday, I was officially on the volunteer list.

Sure, meeting retired legends like Quinn Bailey is a dream come true. But I’m not going to kid myself—knowing Lexi is here sealed the deal.

Some people think the Mavericks should change their long-standing tradition of starting the annual kids camp on Memorial Day.It’s a disservice to those the day honors. It’s a day normally spent with family.Blah, blah, blah.

But to kids like me, who’ve looked up to some of these guys since they were three or four years old, football like thisisfamily. I watched them on TV, rooted for them in Super Bowls, and followed their careers as they retired. I bonded with my dad over conversations about plays and going to witness them play in person, and I watched as service members were honored at their games.

Being here with them today is a dream come true, and I know, with every fiber of my being, the Mavericks will do the Memorial aspect of today right.

Add in the fact that I’ve kissed Lexi Winslow—stepdaughter of the Mavs’ owner—and today feels like I’m living in some kind of fever dream.

“Blake Boden?” a strong male voice asks from behind me as I dump the bag of footballs in the north end zone of Mavericks Stadium to get ready for our first drills after warming up. I stand and spin from my squat, my eyes widening on the vivacious, charismatic face of retired Mavericks quarterback Quinn Bailey. Affectionately, friends and family know him as QB.

I hold out a firm hand, belying the very shaking of my confidence upon meeting my idol. “Quinn Bailey. Excuse me for being so uncool, but holy fucking shit, is it a big deal to meet you.”

Quinn laughs, thank God, easing the tension in my shoulders and solidifying all the things I’ve heard about what a great guy he is over the years.

“I could say the same thing about you, Boden. I’ve watched what you’ve done with the Dragons since you got there, and I’ve got a tingly feeling this year is going to be your year.”

I smile so big my cheeks burn. “I sure hope so, sir.”

Quinn laughs again, waving a hand between us. “Please, for the love of God, don’t call me sir. I feel old enough as it is when it hurts to get out of bed in the morning. Stick with Quinn or QB.”

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